


At Least I'll Have Your Yesterday

by oppressa



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Doomed Relationship, Extramarital Affair, F/M, House Greyjoy, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-07
Updated: 2014-05-07
Packaged: 2018-01-23 22:29:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1581707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oppressa/pseuds/oppressa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She's careful in a way he isn't, and perhaps that's why it goes on for so long.</p>
            </blockquote>





	At Least I'll Have Your Yesterday

**Author's Note:**

> I kind of imagine young Alannys like the actress [Marin Ireland](http://s3.amazonaws.com/img.goldderby.com/ck/images/Ireland.jpg), somehow? Because she looks strong like how Lanny is described and has done some tough roles but is also sorta gorgeous.
> 
> Title modified from 'So Low' by City and Colour: _So where are the pictures, of you and me/put them aside for no one else to see, afraid of what they might say/ not if my heart breaks, at least I have your yesterday_.

“My Lord!”  
  
He finds Alannys Harlaw entrancing, but he does not turn around. From behind him, he hears her running to catch up. She's just a girl, seemingly younger than him even though she's more Balon's age, and then it's obvious what she wants to talk of. He wasn't at their wedding feast, and perhaps that has caused some offence, although he was hardly missed by his own family, everyone practically expects his absence and would generally prefer it if he stayed away.  
  
“Lord Aeron! I've been meaning to speak with you.”  
  
He twitches at having his name said like that. He is a Captain, has his own ship, but the Harlaws like their titles. His minds casts about for something to say. He could point out that Euron did not grace the ceremony with his presence either, but Euron is at sea, thank god, and he has no such excuse. Alannys is too much of a lady to tap her foot and the serene smile is still in place, it's the way she's twisting her hands in front of her that betrays her impatience.  
  
“I'd like to know you better. We are part of the same House now, after all.”  
  
“If you knew me, then you'd know I was never at table anyway. It was not on your account. I did not mean to make you feel unwelcome on Pyke.”  
  
Her lips twitch, as though she likes this. Suddenly, he must explain himself, it may be the only chance he gets. He grasps her arm, leaning in, and the real reason comes out his mouth in a torrent of inadequate words.  
  
“I could not bear to see a beauty like you given away to someone who does not care. My brother is cold, he'll always be off on his wars and won't honour his promise in your bed –”  
  
He stops knowing he's gone too far, almost sorry to have caused the shock in her wide-set eyes.  
  
“I am married to Balon.” She reminds him, and gently tries to prise his hand away.  
  
“You're wasted on him.”  
  
She slaps him whip-fast, and it's more a case of not anticipating it than he lets her, though perhaps he should have. He smiles as he rubs his cheek, so she can see he's not at all contrite.  
  
“And you would do better by me, would you? I can see why everyone says you're a disgrace.”  
  
  
  
As he predicted, Balon is gone to join Euron within the fortnight, raiding the Northern shore, which is not nearly far enough away in his opinion.  
  
Next time they pass each other on the walkway, Alannys does not chase after him. More surprisingly, her small hand slips into his.  
  
“Come to the dining hall tonight.” She invites him. “Sit beside me in your brother's place.”  
  
“That wouldn't be proper.” His excuses get worse and worse.  
  
She has to stand on her tip toes to whisper in his ear. “Oh, when did you start to care about what's _proper_?”  
  
  
  
She stays later than she should at the dining hall with him, drinks more than she usually would. He talks to her, all night. Her husband is not cruel but he is hard, with little time for idle conversation, and he would never drink till he was dizzy knowing that the only way back into their chambers is the bridge. When the hall is almost empty she stands up, much too fast.  
  
“Brother,” She says, holding out her hand. “Walk the crossing with me. I can't do it on my own. You'll escort me across.”  
  
She is vaguely aware she's saying too much, trying to justify the fact she wants him to leave with her to anyone that might overhear.  
  
He doesn't need her help to get up, and she wonders how can he still be so steady on his feet. The only conclusion she can draw is that he's _used_ to drinking this much. He does what she asked of him similarly sure-footed. It's only when they reach the other side she sees his skin has acquired a green tinge and feels terrible.  
  
“Come. I won't make you do that again.”  
  
He nods and follows her, like a lamb. When they are finally inside her rooms he pushes her against the wall, standing very close.  
  
“It didn't take you long to get lonely.”  
  
She presses her hand against his wicked grin. “Rascal. Are you only here because I'm your brother's wife?”  
  
He shakes his head emphatically, making her laugh, then places one hand on her waist, and she quiets, staring at him.  
  
Her hand sneaks down between them, over his thin pelvis to stroke the flesh between his legs. She feels he's so keen, like he is always ready to do this, and there is a direct response to her touch, his shaft hardening rapidly in her hand.  
  
“Weren't you a maid on your wedding night?” He groans.  
  
“Of course I was. I take it your first bedding came earlier.”  
  
His eyes widen, like he didn't think she would ask such a thing. “I paid a whore.”  
  
She smiles. “As is your right.”  
  
He shrugs, uncomfortable, and plucks at her dress. “Do I have to ask your permission?”  
  
Her arms fasten around his neck. She won't make him plead, although she would be intrigued to see that. “You have it.”  
  
  
  
He takes her to places she'd never have found without being shown, coves and inlets and berths beneath hulking outcrops of rock.  
  
“Are you afraid of getting your feet wet, my lady?” He asks, leading her over a beach the tide has recently receded from.  
  
“They already are. I'm more afraid of where you're taking me.”  
  
“It's a safer place than that damned castle.” He says, but he allows her to hop onto his back and ferries her as Rodrik did when they used to play at Ten Towers.  
  
They lie together on the rocks for hours on end, bending each other ever more ruthlessly over the hard stones before settling down for the night in the caves beyond.  
  
  
  
Inevitably, Balon returns from reaving with the fleet, and she fulfils her duty. She doesn't hate him for it, maybe she even feels the first stirrings of admiration for her husband, his discipline, his iron fist. She doesn't love Aeron. He's always out carousing now his older brothers are back and she was fairly certain he wouldn't stay for her sake anyway.  
  
One night he comes grudgingly to Pyke, it appears just to look at her. She turns her eyes down demurely to her food, wondering at the four brothers and their differences. Balon, the eldest with his responsibilities and unrelenting sternness, the militant Victarion who is a brute with women, Euron the sly one Aeron makes no secret of despising, always watching with his remaining eye. And then Aeron is all the more wilfully different still, loud and obnoxious, not good enough for anyone but her. His black eyes flash with merriment, hand taking hers under the table against what would be another man's better judgement.  
  
  
  
“Why don't you please me by finding a wife?” She asks, trying to smile.  
  
His bold gaze wavers, as though he can't quite believe what she just said.  
  
“I have a sister.” She continues, quickly. “Gwynesse. She's dark, like you, and pretty -”  
  
She reaches for his face, and he knocks her hand away, gives her the fiercest look she's ever seen. They never speak of it again.  
  
  
  
She bears Balon's children. She says she always takes the tea after they sleep together and he thinks it's true, all of them are born more or less nine moons after the King returns and she couldn't see him except in passing. She's careful, Alannys, in a way he isn't, and perhaps that's one of the reasons this has gone on for so long.  
  
Childbirth turns her into a wisp who could slip away so easily. Her hair fades from fair to ghost-white and the bones start to show in her mobile face. They won't allow any Maester to see her, of course, she's Iron born and strong.  
  
“I had a girl.” She says, squeezing his hand when they let him in after the latest has been carried away. “She'll be a real Greyjoy.”  
  
“You're a real Greyjoy.”  
  
She shakes her head. “Not nearly stubborn enough.” She breathes, slowly going to sleep.  
  
  
  
The others come back from the Western sea, trailing a decimated fleet, but Aeron is not with them.  
  
“We believe he was captured by the Lannisters.” Balon informs her, emotionlessly. “Don't worry. They treat their high-born prisoners with honour.”  
  
“What are you doing to get him back?” She asks, peeling Theon from his father and back into her arms. “It's like you don't care about him at all.”  
  
“Aeron bears little love for us.” Euron smoothly reminds her. “To me it seems strange that you should care so much, my lady. Your husband has returned whole, after all.”  
  
It's the closest anyone has come to accusing her of adultery. She regards the Crow's Eye with suspicion bordering on disgust.  
  
“At least he's right about you.” She hisses, and takes her leave with her youngest son in tow.  
   
  
  
In the end, there's nothing left for her on Pyke. She goes home to her brother and sister, and tries to forget what it felt like to kneel in her own household, to see Theon try to understand and Asha try to be impassive, seething underneath. Her girl loves her as a mother but Balon's made their daughter his, through and through.  
  
Aeron still resides in Casterly Rock at Lord Tywin's pleasure. She misses him, her heart aches at the memory of his raucous laughter ringing around the grey, sombre halls. She doubts he laughs very much any more, or that he will again, if he returns. It doesn't matter, as she'll never know – Alannys will stay with her first family now, for the rest of her days.


End file.
